


128 - Brazil, Good Singing & Fan Friends

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 16:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17429090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “a story about you/the reader going to their first catb concert and you’re a huge fan and absolutely love them and you get to the front at the barriers and when they are singing songs van is constantly staring at the reader and smiling and holds your hand. Then after the gig has finished he sees everyone and gets pictures and you’re facing the other way waiting for them to come out and he comes up to you and talks to you and fancies you" and "van pulls you up on stage during their concert to sing and everyone’s shocked to hear you’re actually good? and maybe van proper fancies ya after it” and “currently needing van to fall for a fan while performing in other country (brazil maybe?🤗😁)”





	128 - Brazil, Good Singing & Fan Friends

It was the first time Catfish and the Bottlemen had been to Brazil. You'd loved them for so long, since you first heard Kathleen. That was years ago and you'd grown up with their songs providing the soundtrack of your life. Your love for them was unconditional; so when they announced a show, you were fucking there. You couldn't justify the money to go to Lollapolooza, but a sideshow you could do.

Waiting in line, you felt sick with nerves. Incredibly introspective and painfully self-aware, you were usually good at figuring it why you felt a specific thing. The nerves however, were a mystery. Maybe it was just excitement and you were getting it all mixed up. But, it hurt in your shoulder blades and your stomach was rolling like it had detached from the rest of your internal organs. Gabriela kept patting you on the back, reassuring you it was going to be good. Of course it was going to be good, but your body was dying nonetheless.

Inside, against the barrier, you survived the opening band by swaying in time to the music with your eyes closed. Much of the crowd seemed younger than you. They looked like they were mostly in their late teens; the Catfish fans that couldn't go to Lollapolooza. You were a little older, and at twenty-three you felt a little more grounded than the rest of them. All of that was lost though when the band walked out on stage.

Their legs were long and their hands picked up their instruments and they were so, so real. Like, real human beings that really existed in the world. You felt the need to cry, but held it back. Gabriela's arm wrapping around your shoulder and her voice yelling out the words of Homesick in ear snapped you back into the moment. The show had started. The night was unfolding in front of you and it was already going too fast.

You had read online that the more weird sounds and wolf howls Van made, the more he was enjoying himself. If he climbed the walls and hung from the ceiling, he was in love with your city. He was doing all of that, but he was also hanging over the barrier passing the microphone around. He laughed, and in awe spoke about how he didn't understand how English was most of the crowd's second language, yet they knew the lyrics. How profound that was was not lost on him.

Van had climbed down and was holding the mic up for the boy next to you. He screamed out "I'm her pacifier!" over and over, and you watched him, in love with his love for the moment. You looked at Van then, who turned when you did. You made eye contact and he grinned wide. You smiled back and hoped he could read it in your face that you thought he was remarkable, that his band were remarkable.

Back on stage for three more songs, Van bounced around, dragging the microphone stand with him. It seemed that even Benji, Bob and Bondy had picked up on Van's additional energy. They smiled and shook their heads at each other from across the stage. Occasionally, Benji would wander over to Bondy and they'd whisper something. You watched them watch Van, like it was the first time they'd ever seen him live too.

There were moments where you thought your gaze had met Van's again, but you quickly pushed the idea out of your mind. Van McCann of Catfish and the Bottlemen was not watching you.

Then, the music got low and Van paced the length of the stage, balancing on the very edge. The breakdown of Soundcheck was repeated instrumentally. Everyone watched Van's steps, waiting for him to sing or jump or scream or do anything that they could cheer for. He stopped and crouched down low, like in the video clip for the song. He was directly in front of you, and you could feel Gabriela grab your hand and shake it. She said he was definitely looking. Van smirked and nodded at you. Involuntarily, your head tilted and you smiled back. He jumped down and pressed against the barrier. His face was close to yours, and he held the mic between you. "Sing?" he asked.

We'll be talking 'bout your background, and how it never left you much. And 'cause you grew up in a small town, you'll appreciate it moreeeeeeeeeeee…

You sang the words in the language you were learning. Van watched you with a twinkle in his eyes and you could see he was impressed. He didn't expect you to be able to sing. You kept time, and when he didn't move the mic away, you sang the next line too. Gabriela was laughing.

…when you're done figuring your life out, and everything's fine.

Van started singing again, but he pressed his forehead against yours, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. You sang with him and when the breakdown was over, he launched himself back on stage and bounced through the choruses.

The rest of the show played out like some kind of wonderful, bittersweet dream. When the very final note of Tyrants dropped and they all walked off stage, you felt something in you break. You turned to Gabriela and she held your face in her hands. You stared at each other, grinning and knowing. As you walked outside, slowly making your way through the crowd, people stopped you to say you sung well, and that you should have definitely tried to get on the next Catfish record. You laughed, saying no - no that would not be a thing.

…

People crowded around outside. Some were just smoking before heading off home. Some were very clearly waiting for the band. You sat on the curb next to Gabriela, sharing a bottle of water. You watched people come down from the buzz of the show. Then, the doors opened and Bondy and Benji came out. Chaos. People flocked to get photos and have their stuff signed. You wanted to meet them; you had questions and feedback and stories to share. You couldn't muster the physical energy to stand up though. Instead, you felt that being that close to them was enough. They knew they were loved, and that was enough.

Eventually, the crowd thinned, and Bob came out. His camera hung from his neck, and on his face his smile showed a happiness that was almost tangible. Your head flicked to Gabriela; movement. She was waving at someone. You tried to figure out who but there were too many people. "Bob," she said. He walked over and stood looking down at you both.

"You're the girl Van made sing," he said. You processed the words and nodded. He held his camera up. "Can I?" You both nodded and grinned for the photo. Standing, you hugged him and thanked him for the show. Somehow, it didn't occur to you to ask why he took a photo. He walked away to talk to more fans.

With the hard part done (i.e. getting off the ground) you considered going over to Benji or Bondy, but the door opened again. Van stuck his head out, assessing how many people were still there. When he saw it was a manageable size, he walked out into the night. If you thought it was chaos before, boy oh boy… You and Gabriela laughed at the quickly changing emotions on Van's expressive face. He was happy, yeah, but overwhelmed and a little confused. He listened carefully when people spoke, trying hard to pronounce his own words clearly so that his thick accent wouldn't make him completely incomprehensible.

Gabriela asked if you wanted to stay, and you replied with asking why you had to make the decision. She gave you a look that said 'well, obviously because you had A Moment with him so?????' You shrugged, and turned to walk from the street.

"Sorry! Hey! Hi!" a voice called from behind you. You both turned and watched Larry Lau approach. Where had he come from? "Hi," he said again and stuck out a hand. You shook. "Um… I'm Larry,”

"We know," Gabriela said. "You are Van's best friend,"

"And guitar tech," you added, to show you understood that he was important for many reasons. Larry smiled, appreciating the recognition.

"Yeah! Um, so, were you leaving?" he asked, pointing down the street. You nodded. "You've not spoken to Van though,"

"Ahhh," you started, looking behind Larry to where Van was standing in the middle of a crowd of people. "We think Van is very busy. You know? Lots of people to meet him," you explained.

"Yeah, but he wants to meet you, see," Larry said. You noticed it then; that Van kept glancing over to where you were. He'd sent his best mate to talk to a girl for him. It was very high school, and very, very adorable. Except, it wasn't quite like that. He just wanted to thank you, or something, you thought. "Can you wait just a bit longer?"

"Yes!" Gabriela answered for both of you. Larry nodded and walked away. He joined Van at his side and whispered something to him. Van nodded and looked over at you again. You pretended to not notice, nervous under his watching eyes.

It took another half hour for Van to make his way to you. There was only a handful of people left, and like it was organised, the other guys swooped in and paid attention to the fans enough that their focus drifted from Van. You were back sitting on the curb, and Van sat down next to you.

"Hi," he said like it was a long-awaited joke.

"Hello," you replied.

"Van," he introduced and stuck his hand out like Larry did. You shook, and he did the same for Gabriela.

"Y/N," you said pointing to yourself, then "Gabriela," and pointed at her. She gave a little wave.

"Y/N and Gabriela," he repeated.

He asked you about the show, and it wasn't as though he was fishing for compliments. He genuinely wanted feedback. He spoke fast, and you missed parts of what he was saying, but you gathered he was stoked to be in Brazil for the first time and to receive such a warm welcome.

"How do you say 'thank you for having us' in Portuguese?" he asked. You taught him and watched as Gabriela made him say a bunch of other phrases that may or may not have come in useful. Mostly not, though. "You're not teachin' me cuss words are you?" he asked. She smiled and shook her head, lying.

"You should be nicer," you said to her, "At least he didn't ask us to teach him Brazilian,"

"S'not a language, is it?" Van said.

"No. The point exactly," you replied, smiling.

After the initial nervousness wore off, it was easier to talk. Van felt it too, and his speech slowed a little. With a cigarette between his fingers, he watched you as you told him about the other bands you'd seen and loved. Gabriela disappeared over to where Larry was sitting on the steps of the club. It looked like she was teaching him explicit and useless phrases in Portuguese too.

"Can I ask… why did you make me sing?" you asked.

"Make you?!" Van replied, voice high pitched.

"No! Uh, ask? Asked me to sing?"

"I knew what you meant, babe. 'Cause you're, like, dead pretty, yeah?" he said. It sounded like a compliment, maybe? When you didn't respond, he tried again, slower and with less slang. "Sorry… Um. You are," he pointed to you and you began to chuckle, "very, like… a lot," he held his hands far apart to show distance and space and size… a lot… "beautiful."

"I know what you meant… babe," you replied with a smirk. His mouth opened in shock, then he laughed, slapping his leg. He shook his head.

"You're trouble,"

"Oh, I don't know what that is," you replied, making your accent thicker and pretending to be confused.

"See, you can't do that, 'cause I don't know if you're fuckin' with me or not," Van said, still grinning hard.

"Almost certainly fucking with you," you confirmed nodding. You watched Van smile and go to speak. Maybe he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or maybe he didn't know how to say it in words you'd understand. In place of words, he reached over and tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear and smiled with such warmth you felt your bones go gooey.

"So, uh, we have a couple of days before we leave. Think the lads wanted to go out tonight. Maybe you could show us somewhere good?"

"I think there's a thing for that? Have you heard of Google?" you replied.

"Wow. Okay. Trouble," he said. "I don't want Google. I want you." He stood up then, and held a hand out. You took it and let him pull you up. Walking back over to Larry and Gabriela, he didn't let go of your hand. "They're gonna show us the city," Van told him.

…

As easy as it was to fall in love with Catfish's music, it was almost easier to fall in love with them as people. They were kind and patient and acted as though it was an honour that you spoke in English to them. They talked about Brazil like it was paradise, but not about you like you were something other, foreign, or to be fetishised. They were just… good and humble. And in all that purity was an edge of mayhem and trouble and disorder that was wickedly fun.

The sun was up the next morning before you returned them to their hotel, into which you and Gabriela were invited. As you delivered each boy to their room, you kissed both their cheeks, and Gabriela did the same. "Boa noite," you whispered to them all. Last, you followed Van and Larry into their room. Van’s acoustic guitar was out, and you took it from his hands.

"You play?!" he asked impressed already. You snorted and started to make awful sounds with the instrument.

"Probably good enough to take Van's place in the band," Larry said.

"What?!" Van said, the high pitched voice again.

"Gabe can play," you said, handing the guitar to her. She moved to stand in the middle of the room while you folded yourself up next to Van. He bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Requests?"

"Not Wonderwall," you said immediately.

"Wonderwall it is," and she started to play. Van and Larry laughed and you narrowed your eyes at her. The group sing-along escalated, and you ended the song jumping on the bed, being twirled under Van's arm as you danced with him. Larry was spread out on the second bed; singing between laughs, and filming on his phone. Gabriela was standing on the coffee table, playing better than she was singing.

The performance had used up the last of your energy. Larry didn't move, and his eyes had closed. Gabriela pulled a folded hotel blanket from the wardrobe, and burritoed herself up and fell face first onto the couch.

You collapsed on the pile of pillows and blankets you and Van had messed up. He laid down next to you on his side, watching you breathe out and smile, eyes closed. When you felt your heart calm to its normal rate, you opened your eyes. You turned to lay on your side too. It was easier for both of you to not try to communicate with words. He ran a finger down your nose, then his knuckles along the bare skin of your arm. He gave you a little nod, and you knew it meant 'Are you good? You okay?' So, you nodded back. You fell into a deep and happy sleep, not waking until the sounds of Van and Larry fighting over tea were louder than your dreams. 

Van climbed over the blankets and held the packets up. You rubbed your eyes and tried to focus on them.

"We don't know what these say. Which is the normal tea?" he asked. You pushed him off you and rolled over. "No, Y/N. Help," he whined and followed you over. You looked at him again, ruffled his bedhead hair, and pointed at the black tea. "Thanks," he whispered, kissed you on the cheek and walked back over to Larry. From the other side of the room, Gabriela was stirring. She winked at you, and you shrugged. Words couldn't really express the emotions anyway.


End file.
